


Imagine Me and You, I Do

by phandomoftheowl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 19:57:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phandomoftheowl/pseuds/phandomoftheowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two weeks before Halloween, Peter gets it in his head that what they desperately need - with murderous Alpha packs and crazy old hunters running around - is a party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imagine Me and You, I Do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [i_know_its_0ver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_know_its_0ver/gifts).



> Written for [TW Fall Harvest](http://tw-fallharvest.livejournal.com/). Even though this fic changed course like five times over the last two months, I managed to get this done in time (sort of). I hope I got some of your favorite tropes; you said you liked Halloween party shenanigans. I tried to oblige.

Two weeks before Halloween, Peter gets it in his head that what they desperately need -- with murderous Alpha packs and crazy old hunters running around -- is a party. A good old American, haunted house party with skeletons and zombies and sparkly vampires. He tries to rope everyone into helping him with his ridiculous ideas. Stiles somehow, but just barely, manages to stay away from Peter and his Halloween craziness. From what Scott tells him, he’s lucky that Peter isn’t knocking on his door in the middle of the night for a quick trip two towns over for some ostentatious lawn decoration. Melissa McCall apparently drove him with a baseball bat. It is a moment Stiles that very much regrets missing. 

For the most part, Stiles keeps his head down and works on not failing every single one of his AP classes. School has never been particularly difficult for Stiles, but he isn’t quite smart enough to keep his grades up if all he does every night is run with werewolves. 

It is one of those Saturday nights when he has a crap load of homework and not nearly enough time to get it done. He’s sitting in the library trying to get the equation right when something leather-like catches his eye. “Derek?” he whispers in the general direction of the self-help aisle. No answer. Stiles abandons his math and sticks his head around the corner. Sure enough, there is Derek Hale, trying to hide behind a book titled ‘101 Ways to Please Yourself and Your Man.’ “What the hell are you doing?”

Derek drops the book in a rare show of clumsiness. “Peter’s decorating and wanted me out of the way.” Which is Derek speak for _Peter’s an annoying asshat who wanted help with the party decorations so I ran away_.

“Uh-huh.” Stiles nods at the dropped book. “So you thought you’d go look at some ways to ‘please yourself and your man’?”

“Shut up, Stiles.” Derek hastily puts the book back on the shelf and strides past Stiles. 

“Hey wait!” He shouts and gets shushed by a stern librarian. “I was actually about to get something to eat in a bit. Want to avoid Peter together?” Stiles wants to kick himself for the lame choice of words; they sound like something out of a crappy, low-budget porno. 

There isn’t really a reason why Stiles asks that except he remembers last weekend when Scott had stared at him long after Derek left, blood staining his leather jacket -- a regular faerie this time. Remembers how his best friend had just shook his head tiredly and said, “Seriously, you two.”

Derek blinks at him. “Sure,” he says and sits down at what he presumes is Stiles’ table. Stiles grins and points to the next table where he plops down to finish the last problem. He tries very very hard not to laugh out loud at Derek’s embarrassed frown as he relocates to where Stiles is studying, but it’s a close thing.

Stiles has seen Derek in many different situations over the last few months, but seeing him hunched over one of Stiles’ textbooks, eyes flitting in every direction, trying to look comfortable definitely takes the cake. “Dude, you look like you’ve never set foot in a library,” Stiles says after a while, effectively halting Derek’s fidgeting fingers. 

“It’s been a while,” Derek says gruffly. “One of the librarians hated me.”

“Was it Mr. Levine?” Stiles _loathed_ the man and the man despised Stiles in return. Actually, Levine hated everyone who wasn’t over the age of sixty and balding. Derek’s startled expression confirms that it was, in fact, Levine. “Don’t worry. He retired a couple years ago. He’s in Florida now.” 

Derek visibly relaxes and Stiles goes back to his homework.

Later, when they’re done with their burgers, Stiles comes to the startling conclusion that he and Derek spent extended amount of time in each others company without Stiles being physically pushed around. He says as much to Derek who snorts and pushes his shoulder against Stiles. 

Stiles shivers and tucks his scarf more tightly around his neck. 

“There. Better?”

“Much.” Stiles considers it a victory when it gets a smile from Derek.

That night, when Stiles goes over to Scott’s for another late night study session, he totally ignores it when Scott freezes, sniffs the air and grins at him. 

“Good date?”

Stiles stares at the SAT passage and tries not to blush. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Sure you don’t.”

Two days later he wakes up to a text from Derek, and for a minute Stiles forgets that they actually had a casual conversation where no one died, so the text is a bit of a surprise. At least, until he reads the text.

_Peter wants to give everyone a personalized invitation to the party. Scott didn’t pick up the phone. Give them to you at the Cask & Cleaver at 6 tonight._

Of course, it’s only a convenience. Stiles falls back in bed, deflated, and sends back a quick _sure_ and tosses his phone by his pillow. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but...even so, a voice at the back of his mind tells him that people don’t just ask people to dinner at the Cask  & Cleaver to pass on obligatory invitations. 

Stiles shakes his head free of confusing thoughts about Derek Hale and what he may or may not be asking. They never really talked about it, after all, and as for last Saturday...well. Stiles chalks it up to Peter’s craziness getting to Derek. 

Practice runs late and instead of meeting Derek by himself on time, Stiles ends up going with Scott about forty-five minutes late. Luckily, Derek is still there at a lonely looking table all the way in the corner, dress sharper than Stiles was expecting.

Scott announces their presence by flopping across from Derek and loudly groaning, “Ugh, I am _starving_.”

He avoids Derek’s eyes. “Practice,” he explains and hides behind the menu. 

Derek just shrugs like he couldn’t care less (except he obviously does) and goes back to staring intently at his water. 

Somewhere -- he isn’t quite sure where exactly, but -- there is a god out there and he or she is clearly angry with Stiles because this is the most awkward dinner of his life, and he isn’t even sure what he did (or didn’t do) to make it so. Scott is oblivious as ever, ordering a ridiculously giant meal after asking Derek “You’re paying, yeah?” He blathers on about how coach was harsher than usual and how Greenberg was off his form, if he was ever on form, that is. Stiles lets the idle chatter wash over him and Derek, even though he clearly doesn’t give a shit about lacrosse practices, listens to Scott. Occasionally, Stiles will catch him glancing but Derek looks away quick as a flash and nods along to whatever Scott says. 

It’s easier once the food comes, because then they all have a valid excuse not to talk and as soon as they’re done eating they all get up, eager to leave this uncomfortable evening behind them. Well, Stiles and Derek are but Scott doesn’t seem to notice anything is off despite the fact that it’s his fault for being such a nosy fucker that Stiles had to bring him along. 

Outside in the parking lot, Scott ambles up to Stiles’ car, thanking Derek for the meal, who doesn’t acknowledge him. 

Stiles stops five feet away from the jeep, not that that will stop Scott from listening if he wants. “Well.” He rocks back on the balls of his feet and realizes this is probably only the third time he’s directly talked to Derek all night. 

Derek halts his fidgeting with a gentle touch to his shoulder and it’s so unexpectedly light that Stiles freezes. For one crazy moment, he thinks _this is it_ when Derek leans closer, but no. He’s only handing over a square, bright orange envelope. Peter’s invitation.

“‘Guest and plus one’, huh?” He says, running a finger over the glittery black lettering, choking back the urge to ask whether _tonight_ was supposed to be a date. “I guess I better start asking around then.” 

Derek’s eyes slide away and back. “I guess you better.”

“Or I could just wait until the party. See if I get a date there?” There’s a hopeful note in his voice, and Stiles hates himself for it, but fuck, it’s been over a year and he and Derek haven’t gotten anywhere, and despite what everyone seems to think, Stiles is still, in fact, a virgin. Which is just great. 

Instead of answering a normal human being, Derek just grunts and vanishes, werewolf speed making him impossible to track.

*****

The day of Peter’s party is drab and grey. Stiles is pretty sure it’s going to start pouring by the time any guests arrive. Not that that deters Peter.

From what he understands of Scott and Isaac’s frantic texts, Peter has turned into some horrific, Halloween version of bridezilla. Stiles feels pretty bad about that but he isn’t nearly altruistic enough to go offer his services. 

The newly renovated Hale house is already teeming with people -- and creatures -- of all ages. There are a few students Stiles recognizes from highschool, wonders what they told their parents about what they were doing tonight. He can’t imagine any of the parents would approve of their children going to the family home of an ex-convict, no matter how many times Derek insists he was exonerated. The creatures, however are harder to distinguish. Stiles’s limited experience does tell him to keep away from that girl with the pointy ears and blue face. Her features look too authentic to be costume make up. It’s amusing to see the girl dressed as Dracula when there’s a real vampire not three feet away from her drinking ‘red wine’. 

He still doesn’t understand how Peter made the cheesy Walmart decorations look not lame, but he’s pretty sure if he asked all he would get is a mysterious smile and a comment about wolfy powers. There are giant pumpkins on each end of the snacks table, carved with a delicate wolf pattern and every so often the candles dim so that it looks like the moon is going through a whole cycle. Another neat trick Stiles wants to learn but can’t because Peter is an asshat. 

“He...really meant a party for _everyone_ ,” Stiles says to Scott, watching a fairy juggle magical fire balls. “I’m amazed the house hasn’t burned down yet.” A gruff throat clearing behind him makes him grin. “Too soon?” he asks a scowling Derek who is dressed in pretty much his regular leather jacket and jeans. “Great costume, Sourwolf.”

“Shut up.” Derek reaches over Stiles’ head and takes the cup of shitty beer out of his hands. “You’re underage.”

“Yep.” Stiles snatches the beer back and downs it in one go. “But that wasn’t for me anyway. I was just holding it for Lydia.”

Stiles would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the little crease in Derek’s forehead when he frowns. “Then why did you drink it?”

“Because you didn’t want me to,” he answers promptly.

Derek looks like he wants to say something at that, but he never gets the chance because Peter is suddenly there, pulling his nephew into the crowd, muttering something about properly representing the Hale house. 

It’s not disappointment settling in with the beer, he tells himself, and looks around for Scott, only to find that his best friend has abandoned him to this mess of a party. He barely walks a few feet when something heavy and orange crashes into him and he goes falls to the floor with a painful thud. 

“ _Stiles_!” Erica screeches in his ear, loud enough that one of the banshees nearby looks horrified. “What are you s’posed to be Sssss--tiles.”

“Uh. How are you drunk?” he says in lieu of answering her question. 

“Magic,” Erica giggles and points at a green horned warlock who has a too smug smirk on his face. Stiles wonders what promise he extracted out of Erica before giving her the potion, but he can’t wait until it backfires on all of them. 

“Right.” He pushes her off of him. There is no way he’s letting her wander the party half magic drunk, but he is afraid what she might do if left to her own devices, so he searches for Boyd, who should have been the one taking care of her in the first place. “Ugh.” Stiles huffs and drapes her arm over his shoulder so she isn’t flailing everywhere. It’s only then that he notices she’s dressed as Velma. He doesn’t know why but it makes him chuckle. 

“‘Tiles.”

“Hmm?” He deposits her in a chair in one of the many spare bedrooms half an hour into his fruitless quest for Boyd. He fetches her water, glad that she hasn’t moved all that much in the last ten minutes. Seems like the magical potion or whatever it is is wearing off. 

Erica giggles as water dribbles down her chin and onto her orange sweater. “I bet you didn’t want to spend this party like this, taking care of me. I bet you wanted to be with Derek and smooch that angry face of his.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles repeats his tried and tested mantra whenever Derek is mentioned. 

“Maybe,” Erica says, with a far too shrewd look in her eyes. “Maybe if...” And then Erica grabs him by the cape and kisses him, full on the mouth, sloppy and kinda gross and very, very wet. 

A few months ago -- hell, even a few weeks ago, if someone had told him Erica Reyes was going to kiss him, Stiles would probably have been totally down for it. As it so happens, things are a little different now, and all Stiles wants to do is break _out_ of this awkward as fuck kiss. 

Luckily for him, he doesn’t have to be the one to push away a drunk girl. Unluckily for him, the person who does pry them apart is Derek. 

“Uh. This isn’t what it looks like,” he says meekly even as Erica chortles into her sleeve, because clearly, there is a joke Stiles missed here. 

Derek, to his credit, merely grabs Stiles by his arm and drags him out of the room he and Erica were just in, growling a order in his Alpha tone too low for Stiles to catch that makes Erica straighten up, suddenly sombre and ashamed. 

“Hey, look. I don’t even know what -- she just --”

“Shut up.”

Stiles shuts up. 

For about three seconds before his tongue tumbles over the words, trying to explain away the situation with Erica. About how she was drunk because a warlock gave her a potion and how Stiles was just being a good friend and how he was so not expecting her to just up and kiss him like that, besides which, he has zero interest in her at this point in time because he may or may not be a little gay for Derek.

The last could have stayed unsaid, he thinks, but it’s out there now and the words aren’t easy to take back. Not that he is entirely sure he wants to take them back, but Derek’s blank expression is making him anxious and Stiles wishes he were cool enough to actually open a hole in the floor so it could swallow him right up, but no. Wearing a Batman costume does not give him the tools required to make that happen. 

If only he were Bruce Wayne. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about werewolves and warlocks and awkward confessions made during a party he didn’t even want to go in the first place. Actually, the last two seem right up Bruce Wayne’s alley. 

_I guess I really am Batman_.

“What.” Stiles doesn't realize he said that out loud until he notices Derek’s confused features, easy to distinguish despite the poor lighting on the back porch.

“Er...”

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice is tired, but not at Stiles, which is good, he thinks. “Do you... I mean, is there something. Would you like to --?”

“Yes!” Stiles blurts out. He isn’t certain what exactly he’s saying yes to. Maybe all of them or maybe to a question neither of them have asked yet, but whatever it is, it’s a yes. “Just...yes.”

“Oh.” Derek nods and he seems just as stumped by what they should do next, so Stiles takes a leaf out of Erica’s book, because if this night has taught him anything, it’s that listening to drunk people is clearly the best idea ever. 

Their first kiss is a stiff, close-mouthed affair, where nothing but their lips are touching. It isn’t bad by any means, but it isn’t comfortable either, so Stiles steps forward, curls his fingers into the lapels of Derek’s jacket and deepens the kiss until their tongues meet. This time it is a thousand times better than the kiss he shared with Erica, simply because it’s _Derek_ and Stiles has to fight not to go farther. 

Derek thinks the same apparently because he pulls away first, eyes fluttering open, red and blue all at once. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Stiles grins. “Oh.”

**Author's Note:**

> A shout-out to the mods for this fest and tremendous thanks to my beta [samsamtastic](http://samsamtastic.livejournal.com/), who made this fic readable.


End file.
